Practise Makes Perfect
by hairymclary
Summary: Ron Weasley visits the Quidditch Pitch early one morning for extra practice, and finds someone already there. This someone helps him improve his Quidditch techniques... I have a twisted sense of humour.


Practice Makes Perfect

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Warning: Nice Slytherins :O gaspeh Or one Slytherin in particular. Maybe even FRIENDS! - R. Weasley/C. Warrington**

**Disclaimer: J K R says Ron/Hermione. I say Ron is a friendly boy, just full of love for… _Warrington?_**

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Extra Quidditch practice was what I needed. I picked up my broom and crept out of the dormitory, not wanting to wake anyone this early. It probably didn't matter: Neville was snoring loudly enough to drown out any sound I made, from dropping a sugar quill to playing a saxophone.

I left the Gryffindor Common Room quietly enough to avoid waking the Fat Lady. Filch didn't see or hear me as I sneaked down to the Quidditch Pitch. Finally, I reached my destination. I only had one problem: someone was already there.

A Slytherin chaser called Warrington circled the goalposts. I started to turn back, but he had already landed and called me over.

"Wait up! Is that you, Weasley?"

I turned round, fearfully. "Um."

Warrington grinned at me. Now I was really scared. "Going to practice?"

"… Yes?" I squeaked.

"Want a hand?"

I was incapable of replying, which he took as a yes.

* * *

"Are you scared of getting on your broom?" Warrington asked me incredulously.

Even if I was, I wouldn't have admitted it. Anyway, of course I wasn't. I mean George _might_ have knocked me off his at the tender age of five, but I was obviously past that. Of course.

Unfortunately, failure to reply was again taken as a yes.

* * *

I tried not to stare at the ground in all-out terror. How could Warrington bear to fly so high? And what had possessed me to get on his broom with him? Who said it was going to support us? It could collapse at any moment. I clutched at Warrigton's robes and tried not to bury my face in them. Then he dived, and I gave up any pretence of confidence.

"Warringtooooooooooooon!" I squeezed my eyes shut against the oncoming wind. "Stoooooooooooooooooop!" And he did.

"You _are_ scared, aren't you, Weasley?"

I didn't reply: I was too shaken. I should have known better. Of course he took my silence as a yes.

"Well, you can practise blocking my attempts to score now. We'll have another go on the broom later."

He was a Slytherin, and he was trying to help me improve my Quidditch abilities. Why was he being _nice_ to me?

* * *

A routine began. Every morning, at about four o'clock, I would meet Warrington on the Quidditch field. He would take me for a ride on his broom to terrify me before we started the Keeper practice thing.

After about an hour of blocking – or not, as the case may be – he would teach me different stunts that I could do on my broom, from the Wronski Feint, which I swore I would never use, whether I needed to or not (all that ground leaping up at me was just too much), to the Starfish and Stick, which actually knocked me out of the air. It was only luck that Warrington was flying underneath me and his reflexes were quick enough to catch me before too much damage was caused. Even luckier was the fact that not too much damage was caused to the school broom I was using, either, since if something had happened to it and I hadn't died, Madam Hooch would have killed me.

Next, I would practise beating, which improved my one- or no-handed flying no end. Bludgers coming towards me at high speed were almost as scary as the ground, and the only thing worse than that was Warrington speeding at me with a manic grin.

After that, I'd do some Seeker work, and a little bit of the Chaser stuff. I would finish with a bit more Keeper practice, before going inside to try and sleep until it was time for lessons.

* * *

The day of the Gryffindor-Ravenclaw match was awful. I'd practised with Warrington, of course, and he'd been taunting me by singing that song about how useless I was, but I'd managed to block at least some of the rings. And now I was biting my nails off; something I'd thought Mum had cured me of when I was eight.

We started the game, and of course I panicked. It took me some time before I managed to think about anything, and even longer to remember what Warrington had told me that morning.

"_You're good, Weasley. Believe in yourself."_

Easier said than done.

And then I remembered my morning practices, and thought about how many rings I had blocked. And, as Warrington had told me, _"Even the best Keepers can't block every ring."_

I thought about everything I could do, and realised that blocking the rings was in that list. And a Chaser with a manic grin was flying towards me, and I knew what he was going to do because Warrington did it all the time, and I knew I could block it. And I did.

At some point in the game, I think I managed to put in the Starfish and Stick, but it's all a bit of a misty haze now. What I _do_ remember is that when we won the game, I did a Wronski Feint on the way down. I actually found it fun.

"Wow, Ron," said Fred or George, coming over to congratulate me. I'm not sure which one it was, but I didn't really care anyway. "How'd you get so good?"

I grinned at Warrington, who was passing me at that point.

"I practised."

Everything, from Warrington to my Wronski Feint, was perfect.

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AN: Awww…**

**Trust me, you do not want to be in the same cupboard as someone who is starting to learn how to play the saxophone. You don't even want to be in the same castle!**

**Ron was scared of flying, but his Gryffindor pride and 'bravery' prevented him admitting it. And that's why you've seen him on a broom before in the books.**

**Yes, I know there's no detailed slash. Just the beginnings of a friendship, kind of thing.**

**By the way, anyone know some good Terry Pratchett fanfiction sites, apart from this one? And what about fanart?**


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